


If it's me you need to turn to (I don't mind)

by Aredhel_Alcarin



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Cody's POV, He thinks he has it all under control but he just doesn't, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26161717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aredhel_Alcarin/pseuds/Aredhel_Alcarin
Summary: When General Kenobi called him to his private quarters, Cody wasn’t sure there was anything left to report about the now-dissolved blockade.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 19
Kudos: 327





	If it's me you need to turn to (I don't mind)

When General Kenobi called him to his private quarters, Cody wasn’t sure there was anything left to report about the now-dissolved blockade.

The hour doesn’t really matter, the war forcing them to live in an eternal state of alert in which any sleep you can get would, at best, be called a nap; but it must be near midnight. He steps inside, shoulders squared and chin high, trying to think one step ahead so he doesn’t look like a fool in case he’s forgotten something about the earlier debrief. It’s not like he’s never been there before, minimal and efficient and architecturally the same as any other room in the ship’s barracks (except for the small luxury of being individual); but always stationed by the door, like a sentinel. This feels a bit like intruding.

Cody clears his throat to announce himself, his General just finishing taking off his shin guards to be left with his usual Jedi robes, putting them aside with the rest of his armour. The sound doesn’t startle him, as he’s probably felt Cody’s presence way before he entered the room, and when he finally looks up he’s wearing a mocking smile.

“At ease, Cody.”

Well. Cody throws a quick and confused glance at the helmet in his hand, wondering how can he be more at ease without being rude, and tries to relax his posture. Maybe this has nothing to do with the blockade, after all.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” he asks, just the right amount of intimacy to balance the formality.

“Yes” Obi-Wan says, standing up from the edge of the bed and getting closer to speak to him at eye level. He strokes his beard, as he always does when he’s not a hundred per cent in control of the situation; and his voice sounds somehow similar to when he’s about to scold Commander Tano (which is not the same tone as scolding General Skywalker, when he’s expecting a rebuttal). “I am a bit… worried, about you.”

Oh. That takes him aback.

“Sir?”

“I know these past weeks have been awfully hectic and it’s been tough for all of us, but Cody, you look dreadful. I don’t really need to use the Force to know you’ve barely slept in the last five days, and it’s starting to affect your performance− I don’t want you getting hurt for lack of reflexes.”

“With all due respect−”

“I’m a Jedi, Cody, I can use a healing trance for a couple of hours and wake up as if I had a whole eight hours of sound sleep” he intercedes, smiling apologetically, and Cody grunts.

“I’m fine, sir. As you said, I just need to rest.”

Obi-Wan sighs, crossing his arms; and gives a quick look to the door to make sure it’s closed.

“That’s the _other_ problem. Since I don’t really trust what you’re thinking of can be considered as ‘rest’ −as actual rest not only for your body, but your mind−” Obi-Wan says, as he gently takes Cody’s helmet from his hand; “I’d thought I’d take a different approach, to, well” his helmet levitates towards the small pile of Obi-Wan’s armour parts, landing with a soft thud, and Cody feels his General’s eyes boring into his own. “Help you relax.”

A couple of polite hands starts detaching his breastplate before Cody can have a say in the matter, too stunned to complain properly, and when the final strap unhooks with a _click_ he doesn’t even register it. The touch is so light Obi-Wan may be even using the Force, his knuckles barely brushing against the flexible undersuit beneath the armour, thin and warm and almost like teasing; or maybe it’s just that Cody would like to be touched harder. He’s a bit afraid of thinking too loud around a Jedi, especially being this close, but Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to care. He’s not hearing. He’s so focused on his task he’s not even looking at him.

(A pity.)

By the time both his shoulder pads are added to the pile of ignored equipment on the table, Cody’s brain cells finally decide to collaborate and allow his body some initiative. If Obi-Wan wants him to go to sleep this isn’t really necessary, this knot in his stomach simply because he could almost feel him breathing near his neck when he was unstrapping the back of his shoulder pad and also his eyelashes look blond when he’s looking down to work on his forearm protection; so he tries to help: he desperately needs to do something with his hands other than let them sweat.

He doesn’t get very far. Obi-Wan could have patted his arm aside, or warned him, or even pushed him; but he had to take his hand. Typical. Cody’s arms are already bare, tightly fitted in black, but he’s still wearing the fingerless gauntlets now framed by Obi-Wan’s thumbs.

“Let me” Obi-Wan orders, making it somehow sound like a request. He knows he has a soothing voice when he wants. “There’s no rush.”

And it’s fine but Obi-Wan is not wearing gloves, which means he’s only one layer of fabric away from Cody’s skin; and he’s tracing every seam with the tip of his fingers and being deliberately slow and it’s warm and nice and very embarrassing and honestly Cody is very sorry to disagree with his General but this is probably the least relaxed he’s been in his entire life.

It’s… possible, that he’s misreading this. There’s still that possibility. Nothing has been truly sexual yet, just Obi-Wan’s usual disguised-as-flirting rhetoric (with maybe, just maybe, one step ahead in terms of physicality); and Cody’s so eager to read a little too much into it that he doesn’t trust his instincts, their boundaries so steady over the years they’ve never explored them in depth. Obi-Wan is looking at him now, an easy smile on his face, but he’s still his boss. And it’s not like Cody’s going to lose his job for thinking like this, because Obi-Wan is a Jedi and he _must know_ and they’re still working together; but he doesn’t want to make a mistake and make it weird between them. He doesn’t want to be the one that crosses the line.

Even when Obi-Wan cups his face, his thumbs rubbing against what is now a stubble on his jaw, Cody presses his lips in restraint. Obi-Wan chuckles, he fucking _chuckles_ ; and Cody can’t even be mad because his eyes are so blue it’s almost grey and although the only thing he knows about the Force is that it’s intangible, that’s exactly the colour he imagines it has (that’s how he knows he’s deep in. Nothing else makes him _this_ cheesy).

Those ethereal eyes follow the hands going down, leaving behind the subtlety of the fingertips and using every bit of skin to feel his chest, the shapes his muscles make under the tight fabric, and also probably how fast his heart is beating. Then Obi-Wan gets to his arms, grabbing his biceps with something that can only be described as hunger clouding his gaze, and okay. Okay.

He can work with that.

Obi-Wan is slightly shorter than him, just enough that when Cody puts his arms around his waist to press their bodies together he needs to look up; and he allows himself a smirk. He knows the height difference is an illusion, his bigger body meaning absolutely nothing next to an even unarmed Obi-Wan; but he likes to have him trapped. Controlled, _protected_ ; even if they both know it’s a lie. It makes him feel powerful. Obi-Wan’s hands creep over Cody’s back, finding the invisible zip and opening it wide enough to reveal his collarbone; then grabs the short hair at the top of his head, making him lift his chin and expose his neck, and bites just below his ear.

Well, _fuck_. That takes a groan right from his throat as they both seem to decide that, yeah, there’s no rush; but that doesn’t mean they have to go slow either: Cody struggles to undo the wide belt that ties the Jedi robes together while Obi-Wan leaves a trail of wet kisses along his jaw, brown skin turning dark red, all pleasure and no pain.

Closer, closer, but when Obi-Wan’s about to touch Cody’s lips, mouth opened in anticipation, he stops and stares; Cody’s blacks already pushed down to his waist, to his hips. Some hair here and there, that bit pointing down growing thicker the more it hides under the undersuit, daring hands unstrapping a couple of armour parts still blocking the view. And there’s desire in the way Obi-Wan inhales, deep; in the loving teeth marking the spot where his neck joins his shoulder, in his warm body letting Cody undress him with rough hands, but still no kiss. Still no taste.

“Won’t you kiss me?” Cody breathes; and he hates to sound so whiny, so pleading, when he would take him raw right there every time he smiles in his general direction.

Obi-Wan lifts his eyebrows with a mix of surprise and relief, and not-so-unwittingly licks his upper lip without breaking eye contact. At least Cody knows that he doesn’t have to worry about blushing, since all the blood in his body is already concentrated on his dick; so that’s that.

“I thought that may be too, ah… _intimate_ ” he says, like that’s not the stupidest shit Cody’s ever heard, for once he doesn’t need to be a Force user to physically feel his General’s bewilderment as soon as Cody grabs him by the back of his neck and kisses him like he hasn’t eaten in four days. The muffled moan comes from Obi-Wan this time; their noses bumping when changing angles, his lips curving upwards when Cody’s free hand finds its way to the lower part of his back and down, down, until he’s plainly grabbing his ass.

A kiss is almost never just a kiss, always mixed with something bigger −an apology, a declaration, a promise−, and this one (these ones? This very long one) could perfectly be called a victory. Obi-Wan tastes just the way he smells, if that makes any sense: Cody could be poetic and say it’s home, it’s refuge in the middle of war, and purpose and the promise of future; but in the end it’s simply an abstract feeling impossible to decipher ingredient by ingredient, so rooted in Cody’s mind that he would notice even the tiniest change in the mix. Well, mostly. Right now he also tastes like tarine tea and watered mint toothpaste, with some traces of those insipid rations bars they use in the field.

All in all, probably the best meal he’s had in months.

The hands inside his pants force him out of his kissed-induced haze, Obi-Wan detaching himself far enough for Cody to focus his eyes on his General’s general state: wet, pinker lips; half-lidded leer, his robes just barely messed up compared to his hair; and beautiful fingers tracing the length of his hardened dick. He shudders.

Obi-Wan holds his gaze just a bit too long, as if daring him to say something, then shows him that cheeky smirk that makes Cody sweat from terror in the middle of battle. He kneels, then, pushing down his undersuit and holding onto his thighs; and Cody thinks quite bashfully that he should have kept his kneepads on. The rub of Obi-Wan’s beard against the soft skin of his inner leg is− _interesting_ , to say the least; and he actually gasps when he grabs his dick and licks it from the base, wet and warm, to finish with a soft peck on the tip. Now _that’s_ cheeky.

A grunt and a frown from above, from both embarrassment and impatience, and Obi-Wan just takes them like he accepts his lightsabre back every time he loses it: like that was his plan from the beginning. Cody’s hand rests on the side of Obi-Wan’s head, his thumb brushing a couple of misplaced locks of hair away from his temple, not quite used to have such the high ground.

And it’s not like Obi-Wan looks small, or weak, or in any way pathetic; it’s precisely that, knowing he could destroy him with a flick of his mind, he implicitly allows Cody to manhandle him. Because he _trusts him_. So when Obi-Wan puts him whole into his mouth, taking him as deep as he can (hot, wet, starving), Cody’s caress turns into a fist. Obi-Wan bobs his head and then sucks slowly at the tip, his tongue flat against pulsing flesh, his hand tightening its grip on the base while ignoring the dripping bits of saliva and sticky pre-cum; flushed, pink, and kind of messy.

(He’s so going to remember this.)

They’re still in the middle of the room so there’s nothing to rest himself against but Cody really needs to get his hands on something to feel his legs steady, to use as counterpoint and from there push towards Obi-Wan; and, well, he’s already grabbing him by the hair, so. Whatever. He makes sure to keep him in place while he fucks his mouth, never breaking eyes contact −never, never−, feeling his short nails sinking into his thighs the more he presses (probably not the most elegant move, he’ll admit that; but Obi-Wan hasn’t complained yet, and he’s easily stronger).

And, boy, does he stop if he wants to. He simply wipes the corner of his mouth and gets up, placating Cody’s very visible confusion before he can protest with words instead of groaning noises, and takes his hands to guide him towards the bed.

“We don’t want to finish too soon.”

With that Obi-Wan pushes him onto the mattress, utilitarian and more comfortable than sleeping on rocky ground in the middle of a raid, but that’s about it; and he lands on his back and almost trips because he still has his undersuit tangled near his ankles. Really not ideal, but this will do. He rests himself on his elbows, sitting up a bit to finally undress completely, and pushes the remaining clothes with his feet. Obi-Wan is still standing, watching him and his very upwards dick on display; and Cody makes an accusing face.

“You’re still fully clothed, sir.”

“And whose fault is that?”

…Yeah, okay.

To his credit the sudden strip-tease show isn’t all that bad, and Cody is proud and a little bit worried about those hickeys darkening along Obi-Wan’s neck, but he supposes they’ll be gone before they even have time to grow fully purple. Jedi stuff, and that; quite handy in certain circumstances. The only times he’s seen his General in various degrees of nakedness has been because of various degrees of injuries, so it’s nice to see him, well, safely naked. Healthy naked. Just, naked, but without having to worry.

“How do you want to do this?” Obi-Wan asks, always practical; and Cody feels his throat dry. He’s not going to be picky.

“ _Any_ way.”

Obi-Wan chuckles _again_ , and Cody feels his face warm with embarrassment. Obi-Wan is throwing his clothes to the floor, all of them to the same spot and almost folded, like the control freak he is; and you know what? Cody could laugh about _that_. He won’t, but, like. He could.

“I’m sure you had something a little more specific in mind” Obi-Wan says, or dares, or hopes.

“Well, I…” Cody starts, partly because he doesn’t know how far he should tell; but mostly because it sounds ridiculous when said out loud. His own voice feels husky, raspy, stupid− what _won’t_ he do to him, that’s the better question, and he wishes he could simply show him the images running through his head. “I’d like to get you pinned against the wall, face pressed while I- I…”

“Yeah?”

There’s a small silence, though they both know exactly what’s he’s going to say.

“While I fuck you, sir.”

He feels kind of lighter after that, like he just confessed a terrible sin, and he would have sworn Obi-Wan blushed a little; but maybe it was just the lights. He also feels terribly exposed. Obi-Wan doesn’t make him wait and joins him on the bed, crawling onto him until he’s on eye level, his hands on both sides of Cody’s head: his skin looks fairer than it actually is, being in contrast with a darker one; thousands of freckles adorning his body. Cody could count them, from this distance, and he can’t help tracing a few constellations with the tip of his fingers: on his shoulder, on his chest, even on his cheek, near his nose. He knows those ones, but they’re not always visible.

Having him there, like that, Cody touches everything. Obi-Wan is bigger than he looks under those heavy Jedi robes, strong arms and rough edges (that thing about cultivating both body and mind, or something like that); and mostly unblemished: it doesn’t matter, Cody has enough scars for both of them.

Obi-Wan brushes his knuckles near his cheek, along the lower part of his scar −there’s no pity in his eyes; just recognition, respect−; then grabs their dicks together to rub them slowly, his hand rocking with a steady rhythm. Cody sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, fingers tangled in ginger hair, his other hand lost in the muscles of his back; and when Obi-Wan talks again, like there has been no pause in the conversation, his breath is warm against his ear.

“Anything else?”

Cody swallows, his arousal finally overpowering his own embarrassment and sense of hierarchy. Obi-Wan keeps rubbing against him casually, like this is nothing out of the ordinary, like he’s not hard and dishevelled and a bit coarse after taking his whole dick on his mouth in one take.

Like he doesn’t know Cody has dreamt about this many times, has fantasized about this, has masturbated to this. Who cares, at this point.

“I’d be slow and teasing until you would ask for more, sir, that pretty mouth sucking on my fingers− _ah_ , then I would turn you around and lift you” Obi-Wan bites softy at his earlobe, giving small pecks and wet kisses down his throat; “grab you by your thighs so I can look at you while I fuck you harder, your arms around me, and I would tell you when to come, when to beg−”

“Are you that tired of following my orders, Commander?”

“No, sir, I−”

Obi-Wan smiles slyly, his thumb doing _something_ to the tip of his dick, and lets a long moan reassure Cody he’s very much on board with all this. Foreheads pressed against each other, their noses touching, his tongue claiming his lips like it could heal after sucking on them− the whole room is very hot, not that the barracks have a good ventilation system anyway, with a sweaty and sticky heat.

“It’s okay, it’ll be our secret” Obi-Wan whispers against his mouth, then sits up to straddle him and looks at Cody from above, grinding on him in all his average-sized glory. “Should we go up, like you said, or would this do?”

Cody tries very hard not to melt into that voice, his brain making an effort to think and focus his attention on giving an answer instead of losing himself on the jolts of pleasure spreading through his body; and considers his options: they can pause, again, and walk and trip to a fabricated posture that really doesn’t mean anything more than Cody’s idealized sense of domination; and also actually face an anxiety that doesn’t exist in his fantasies by having a staring contest with Obi-Wan before knowing if he’s going to like whatever they’re going to do (ah, to be a disappointment, his biggest fear).

He can be all bravado when talking (and he can be confident, and sensual, and just plain filthy), but the reality is that this is closer to a therapy session than a dream come true for Obi-Wan; a once-in-a-life-time favour Cody should enjoy to the fullest without worrying about looking good. This is for him, and that’s fine. He’s grateful.

“I want you under me” he breathes, rougher than he intends, “face down.”

“Then do it.”

So Cody grabs him by the shoulders, granting him a soft gasp, changing positions and turning him against the mattress. He gets behind him, lifting his hips, and rubs his dick against his ass like that’s going to solve all his problems.

He has him like he’s never had him before, tamed and bare and yet still watching his back. Always watching his back. He has carte blanche to do whatever he wants now; he can mark him, slap him, restrain him, _fill him_ ; and for a moment it’s all a bit overwhelming. He could cum just by grinding like this, honestly, knowing his fingers are leaving soft bruises all over Obi-Wan’s lower back, and hips, and legs; his dick staining that perfect, freckled skin with a whitish spurt after a little more friction. And that would be _so good_ , excuse me; but then again he has Obi-Wan lying under him, _for him_ , and he’s not going to miss all the rest.

Dark fingers mapping uncharted territory, the palm of his hands pushing down like he wanted to tear his skin, then Cody bends to bite near a mole disguised as a freckle; right between his shoulder blades. Obi-Wan sighs, asking for more, and Cody takes his time to kiss his way down until sinking his teeth again on the soft flesh of his ass cheek. Those silent moans are the only thing he wants to listen to ever again, and so he licks the reddened skin once, twice; spreading his legs to have better access.

His lips tease Obi-Wan the same way he denied Cody a kiss a whole epiphany ago, his nose brushing that very sensitive area while he plays around it: sometimes light as a feather, sometimes heavy and wet; until he feels Obi-Wan turning his head to try to look behind, an impatient, hungry, _whiney_ groan, as if that would do something.

(It does. It very much does.)

Listen, Cody knows the deal. He knows he loves (whew… _loves_ ) a man that’s dedicated his life to a higher force −no pun intended, if there’s one− and so he won’t ever be reciprocated, not in the same way, at least; but feeling wanted, feeling _desired_ , that’s pretty damn close. At the end of the day it’s not even about feeling physically attractive, because whatever that implies really loses its meaning when there are literally millions of people looking exactly like you; but that’s exactly why it means there’s something else. Something more.

Something that’s making Obi-Wan beg to be taken care of specifically by him, and wow, that’s power. That makes him feel bold.

Staring at those beautiful eyes imploring what his mouth won’t dare yet Cody slaps his ass, as a warning, and Obi-Wan buries his face on the sheets. He’s feeling bold _and_ benevolent, apparently, and so spreading his cheeks with his thumbs he starts opening him with his tongue: it’s hot and dark and almost painful to his own dick, already dealing with too many sensations.

He licks and kisses and breathes against it, the muscles closing around the wet flesh of his tongue; Obi-Wan squirming in pleasure and arching his back to be as exposed as possible. Cody spits and spreads the dripping saliva along his entrance then adds a finger, and another; and he can hear Obi-Wan’s breathing getting hitched and erratic, an arrhythmic beat, and then long and low, dragging a moan that fills the room. Cody’s own dick is leaking, the whole thing a little messy, and now _this_ is the best meal he’s had in months.

Better be getting to the final act, before he goes all fireworks.

Getting his dick inside is both easier and harder than he anticipated, pushing slightly against the pink rim to find the most pleasurable resistance, bit by bit, then heat enclosing him. He gets a deep sigh from his General, back muscles tensed tight for a moment before he relaxes into it.

With a great effort he starts slow, as he’s promised, but probably not as teasing as he would have liked. Who cares, he’s too close. He’s satisfied with what they’ve already played. It’s tight and hot and now he wouldn’t mind looking Obi-Wan in the eye, but as far as Cody can see he’s closing his fist to pull at the sheets and so his eyes are probably shut and as blind as the throaty sounds coming from his mouth, muffled by the mattress. Cody doesn’t have time to wonder, to plan; and he’s not even sure if he’s mumbling filthy nonsense out loud or just to himself. Maybe he’s just thinking it.

His pace gets faster sooner than he may have imagined, the friction almost noisy over a background plea of _ah! ah! ah!_ that is not either of their voices, but both at the same time.

Obi-Wan tries to touch himself, his hand sailing along the wrinkled sheet’s waves, but Cody grabs it before he can do anything and secures it on his back; pressing to keep it and him in place. Obi-Wan turns his head again, smirking with a glint of mischief twinkling in his eyes, and Cody is so close, so very close; so he makes one last effort to crouch over his General, their bodies completely pressed together, panting against the back of his neck.

“Say my name” he says, he _asks_ , and Obi-Wan is not having that.

The silence is holding his gaze, proud and childish.

“ _Say my name_ ” Cody repeats, with the same commanding tone he would use to scold the most foolish of his cadets, and really he’s going to cum anyway, but it would’ve been nice−

“Cody−”

A really low grunt. Cody rests his forehead between Obi-Wan’s shoulder blades, suddenly noticing goosebumps on his General’s skin, and feeling the orgasm building into his body. He's sweaty and hot and tense and he barely registers anything outside his own heartbeat pulsing into his dick,

“ _Kote_ ” Obi-Wan pants, and that’s it.

That does it.

The climax makes him black out for a couple of seconds, his arms tightened until they can’t hold on any longer, and he collapses right next to his General. It’s a good thing he falls on the wall side of the bed, functional interior design conceived to occupy the least amount of space possible, because really these mattresses aren’t that big and he could have easily ended up on the floor. That was good, that was _so good_. It was great. He’s so blissed out he barely notices Obi-Wan finishing himself off, but he’s so satisfied he will have time to feel ashamed later. Next time he’ll do better.

(Next time?)

Unfortunately the euphoria soon fades down once he catches his breath and opens his eyes, looking at a bland, grey duralloy ceiling; and realizes what just happened.

He’s still naked. He’s also kind of cold right now, crushed under the heavy and implacable stone of reality, and very sweaty and, uh, _sticky_ ; and also tired, but like in a good way. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt he could sleep for hours straight, but he’s still in Obi-Wan’s bed; and now he’s so embarrassed by the whole thing he can’t even look at his General in the eye when he comes back from the toilet to lie beside him.

Trying to find his voice (what tone do you use in this situation, should he try sounding docile? Grateful? Sober?), and without looking at him (is it rude not to look? Should he look, but avoid his face? Wouldn’t it be worse staring at his body, which is also naked?), Cody sits up.

“I guess I should be going.”

Obi-Wan turns to look at him, the right amount of sadness, disappointment and understanding in his face for this not to feel pitiful.

“If that’s what you want, Commander, you’re free to go” he says, but it does sound colder than usual.

He makes a pause, and Cody starts to get up. He’s going to have to get out of the bed by crawling forward, unless he wants to pass over Obi-Wan, although he’s not sure which one is the least pathetic option at this point. His undersuit is thrown on the floor, along with some scattered parts of his armour, and then the rest guarding his helmet on the table; but maybe he should go to the toilet first and clean himself up a bit, but would that be acceptable? To use his bathroom just when he’s announced he’s leaving?

Should he just− dress, and put everything to wash the moment he enters his room? That sounds kind of disgusting, to be honest, but he’s getting out of options. Maybe−

“However” Obi-Wan adds, and Cody stops mid-movement. He sounds softer now, but a bit on edge; and Cody has heard that many times when he’s watching him throw his last resort to an ongoing negotiation. That’s his lawyer voice, “I won’t need your military services until tomorrow, so don’t act like that’s my order.”

A sheepish expression crosses Cody’s face, and eternal millisecond of doubt and realization, and he finally laughs. He relaxes against the wall, feeling his shoulders lose a whole ton of weight, and sits back to lie beside his General.

He still needs a shower, and maybe go to pee, and probably a bit more insolence to hold the sight of a naked Obi-Wan brushing his arms against him, their fingers playing without fully interlacing; but he’s really tired, and he’s been told he needs to rest: _that_ was an order, and Cody is nothing if not a good soldier. He gets comfortable, taking advantage to the narrowness of the bed, and puts his arm under Obi-Wan’s head (his hair looks terrible and he will hear about it tomorrow, but right now he can only lean towards him to give him the tiniest kiss on his temple).

“Maybe I can spend the night.”


End file.
